


A Challenger Appears

by azerblazer



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Growling, Light Bondage, M/M, Quietly Implied Underage sex, Sex Toys, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 16:43:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azerblazer/pseuds/azerblazer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In his bed, Peter’s never wolfed out. Not even a hint of claws or teeth.  The restraint of a born wolf whose had years of training.</p>
<p>Stiles is up to the challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Challenger Appears

**Author's Note:**

> I've been awake 20+ hours. This is the perfect time to make decisions. To get back into the groove of things. (Please, please forgive me for the delay of the Demon!Stiles lovelies) I decided to finally write the full complete PeterStiles smut.  
> Enjoy!

 

The tie was hideous. Stiles didn’t know why Peter had it, since so far he’d shown a passable sense of fashion, if one counted the Creepy Killer Uncle ensemble he wore from time to time. But really? Violet stripes and mint green didn’t do anything but make you look like a douche.

Beneath him, Peter shifted and slid his cock right up against Stiles’ slick entrance. His vision blurred a tiny bit with the need to shove back and finally get filled right up to the brim. He _ached_ for it.

But no. A deep breath to make the sweet ache more manageable and he continued wrapping the tie around both of Peter’s wrists, up against the headboard. He would have his fun.

Peter moved his wrists lightly, testing the give, the silky texture sliding easily. It would only hold him longer than paper handcuffs, and both of them knew it. It wasn’t there to restrain him, only to keep his hands out of the way for Stiles. It would be enough to take his weight, so Peter lounged back, head hitting the headboard to showcase his neck, a feinted submission; but one that made Stiles want to give in first. He slid off the man’s stomach instead, going for his crumpled pile of clothes, taking two condoms and the little bundle of wires and shiny plastic.

The bottle of lube was still open, thankfully upright on the little wooden stand next to the bed, it was almost half gone, Peter didn’t dare use anything except “A bit more than necessary” when stretching Stiles.

He’d return the kindness today.

Wordlessly, the older man opened his legs, shifting muscle and pale skin made Stiles want to bite the inside of his thigh. He slid in instead, sitting on the balls of his feet comfortably.

His face must be completely red by this time, as he coated his fingers in lube, but his cock bobbed between his legs in intense interest. Peter huffed a small laugh above him.

“You’re practically shaking Stiles.” Hands tied and legs shamelessly spread and Peter still sounded so _put together._

“You want to mount me, I can taste it.” His tongue darted out and seemed to savor whatever he tasted in the air between them.

Stiles wanted to tear him down. Much more than he ever wanted to come.

It was this that made him hard and wanting; the sheer thought of taking every scrap of self restraint Peter possessed and tearing it to pieces and leave him bare and naked and loving Stiles for doing it.

And it started with the thumb at his entrance.

He said nothing, and when Stiles glanced up, his face was placid and eyes calm.

But his thighs twitched minutely, and Stiles leaned down to nose and kiss the crease between his thigh and pelvis.

He felt the muscle above him clench, and hid his smile into his next kiss. His thumb began rubbing gently back and forth, easing the taut clench to dip in his the tip quickly before taking it back out again and continuing.

Still no reaction, but Peter’s legs drew up in a calm and controlled manner, cradling his torso between them. _Too_ controlled.

His back and neck twinged in protest as he continued to crouch over and plant little kisses around the flushed cock, cheek brushing it with every motion. His thumb slipped easily in and out by now to the first joint. Counting down in his head, Stiles turns his head and suckles wetly at the base of the heated cock at the same time he slips his index finger in.

Hitched breath reaches him, and a glance up reveals Peter with his eyes closed, a small furrow between his eyebrows and hands clenching and relaxing slowly. He quickly looks away before the little thread of control he has unravels completely.

He detaches himself with a soft slick noise and takes his finger out; aware of one firm leg curling around his back to keep him pinned.

He dives back in again, tongue licking a stripe up the side of his cock, thumb pressing insistently at his perineum and index finger dipping in deeper each time.

Peter’s breathing is getting pretty unsteady.

Good.

He keeps this small rhythm, _tonguethumbfinger_ , going until he easily slides in all the way to the knuckle.

Peter’s hips jolt up when Stiles uses two slick fingers unexpectedly, and he wordlessly apologizes by suckling in the tip of his cock. The taste is jarring, but he swallows the flavor away and sucks at the same time his fingers thrust in.

He circles the base of Peter’s cock with the other hand and presses down, to remind him not to thrust and to put another lovely hitch in his breathing.

A glance up reveals the tie still in place, and deep gouges in the headboard; Peter’s face flushed. Not much but in the low light it turns his face into something surreal, a wanton predator. His eyes are heavy lidded and there’s not a hint of wolfy teeth. His control is at full power, to match his lust.

In his bed, Peter’s never wolfed out. Not even a hint of claws or teeth. The restraint of a born wolf whose had years of training.

Stiles’ is up to the challenge.

He let’s the cock slide out of his mouth, licking the vestiges of taste off his lips before leaning forward to rest his hot forehead against the tense and trembling stomach before him. A small hoarse sound above him has him shushing Peter absentmindedly and pressing a soft kiss next to the trail of hair and crooking his fingers against that rough grooved patch of wet heat he’s been teasing.

The hips below him jackknife up and he can feel Peter’s dick grind against his collar bone as both legs wrap tight around his ribs and push him forward.

His back is killing him, so he leans back as much as he can, takes his fingers out and slides Peter up on his thighs.

One leg goes up on his shoulders and the other slides down to support himself on the bed.

It cannot be a comfortable pose, but Peter is too busy trying to get some pressure on his cock to really care. The angle is awkward for Stiles’ hands but he slowly pumps Peter and enters his clenching hole, _christ,_ with his two fingers again. He clenches his ass at the heat coiling through him again, the tight movement gives him a second of almost relief, like if he tightened enough he’d be able to come.

It quickly passes and he’s dragged to square one, hips twitching up against whatever part of Peter he can reach and grind against. Peter dredges a knowing grin from somewhere despite the groans that escape the older man constantly now, a play by play announcement of every movement Stiles’ fingers do to stretch him out as much as possible.

Fuck, this can’t last long. _He_ can’t last long. Stiles drops Peter’s cock, squeezing his balls as he passes them, provoking a growly grunt and a murmured “Cheeky.” from the older man.

He gropes for the condoms and removes his slick fingers, trying to ignore how Peter slumps down with a quiet groan. Of relief or frustration, Stiles couldn’t tell.

He bites off the top, couldn’t grip anything with the lube on his hand, and after a moment of thought, he decides to put it on Peter first. Rolling the condom on quickly, the light pressure is enough to have Peter jerking like a live wire again.

The second one he unfurls and reaches back for the tangle of wires and shakes it out until he can get at the shiny bullet. He drops it in the condom and uses his fingers to slide it right up against slippery entrance and inside until it’s against the small place inside Peter that makes him moan.

It goes easily and with a tight grin, Stiles presses himself up against the entrance, popping the crown of his cock alongside the wire and condom trailing out; because he’s kind of a bastard too, when he wants to be.

There’s small ripping noise and Peter has the two ends of tie gripped in his hands. He keeps them up though and dares Stiles with his eyes. Stiles ducks his gaze easily and slips out, smoothing his hands along the thighs besides him to calm their twitches. He wipes the lube off his hand on the bedspread and grabs the tiny remote connected to the bullet. He made sure to get one with a long wire, just in case.

He turns and has his bent knees alongside Peter’s stretched out legs and props himself up with the hand holding the remote, using the other one to guide Peter’s cock into him.

It’s a painful sort of relief, clenching down and being prevented by the thickness inside of him, a stopper that allows the heated coil in him to begin to fill up. He leans back, on hand on the mattress, the other on Peter’s chest.

When he starts to move, Peter lets his hips bounce back without any effort, pliant and languid, although from the sporadic ripping noises behind him, the tie is taking the brunt of it. Every time Peter exhales, something deep in chest rumbles and Stiles feels like he’s riding something dangerous.

He grinds down hard and presses the lowest button on the control.

“Oh-”

Peter sounds like they punched the air out of him, and Stiles is met with an upward thrust that almost displaces him completely, it’s his turn to make an embarrassing keening noise. Strong hands finally grasp his hips and begin moving him at an even pace, bouncing fast and light.

There’s four setting on the remote, Stiles toggles between the first two, enjoying the unpredictably jerk of hips that almost unseats him and is accompanied by raspy moans from the man underneath him.

It’s heady, this power and his impatience has him pressing the third setting and then trying to keep hold of the small plastic as Peter finally breaks and pushes him forward into the bed, legs stretched wide around him, ass up and his dick still inside Stiles.

He breathes heavy, every thrust rubbing his whole front against the sheets, an electric prickling that only spurs on his hips. Peter is thrusting back into a rhythm, and Stiles tries to prop himself up on his elbows and look over his shoulder, because Peter sounds like he’s _actually out of breath,_ and Stiles would give anything to see that shit.

A snarl rips the air and a heavy hand on his neck is shoving him back hard against the sheets. Looming over him he lets go of the steady rhythm he was building up and uses sharp, unbearably _deep_ jabs that have Stiles unable to close his mouth and do nothing else except writhe weakly against that much pleasure, his heartbeat in his ears and his hands clenching tight to keep from moving to grip his own dick in desperation.

A little light blinks from besides a small printed number 3, and he focuses his blurry vision on that, Peter sees what he’s focused on a second too late.

He presses the last setting.

“St-”

He’s cut off and crouches helplessly on all fours behind Stiles, little whines crawling out of his throat and into the back of Stiles’ neck. He’s forced to let go of the remote control as Peter threads their fingers together and plasters himself to his back.

The hot heavy breath against his nape is a small thread of danger that makes the near painful force against his ass that much sweeter. Stiles rubs his face helplessly against the bed beneath him, small tears blinked away and wiped off on the bedspread. Peter will like that, Stiles’ tears on his bedsheets; psychopathic werewolf.

“stilesstilesstiles _stiles_ -”A steady whisper breathed onto his back cuts off as his hips plunge deep and tense; Stiles suddenly, violently, becomes aware of sharp pointy teeth clenched and pressed against his bare shoulder. Werewolf teeth.

He hears him grit his teeth but they don’t open as they press hard against him.

Stiles’ gasps out some bastardization of a swear word and comes.

 -

He wakes up to Peter sucking hickies on his neck, blunt human teeth worrying his skin and leaving red and purple bruises everywhere. The little vibrating bullet is nowhere to be found and they could not smell more like sex if they tried. His voice is gratifyingly hoarse as he chuckles and announces “I win.” to the still air.

Peter wraps his arms around him, gracefully conceding defeat before planting a soft kiss between his shoulder blades.

“We’ll see how well you hold up against your little toy next time, hmm?” His voice sounds like it went against the paper shredder and lost, heavy, raspy and languid. It sounds like a challenge.


End file.
